I touch the dampness. My fingertips come away red. Tears burn my eyes. It would be so easy to hate him. He deserves it. But that is one thing I refuse to let him do to me. I will never give in to hatred, no matter how well-earned.
He slams the door behind me and slides the bolt into place.
13
ALISTAIR
“Sir, if I may.”
“What is it, Othmar?”
I smash my fist on the rickety table. We’ve taken rooms at the best available inn, by which I mean, all of the rooms. Every single one. Forty-eight hours into my desperate search for Elsie, I haven’t slept beyond short catnaps in the coach as we race across Belterre looking for her. I won’t sleep tonight, either.
We’ve traveled most of the country, changing horses every few miles, yet there is no sign of her anywhere. How can a grown woman disappear into thin air?
“We think we have found a lead.”
“Show me.”
My guard’s brow furrows. “You need rest, Highness.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead, Othmar.” I’m coming undone. The prospect of being married off to a stranger was acceptable to me only a few days ago.
Now? Unthinkable.
Imustfind Elsie.
We ride out to the minor baron’s estate on the outskirts of town. The house is neatly maintained, the grounds managed by a gardener. The daughter has auburn hair. She is not Elsie, and she makes a great show of fawning over me.
“Don’t waste my time again,” I snarl at Othmar and the other guards. “That lady was barely out of the schoolroom. She was short. I told you, she’s yea tall.” I hold my hand near my chin. The perfect height for kisses.
The perfect brow to place a crown.
I’m turning delusional in my obsession. I have very little practice with being denied the things I want in life.
Worse, I have the dreadful feeling that she’s not safe.
Think,I scold myself.What did she tell you about herself?
She was deliberately avoiding her family.
She had never been kissed before, yet a man had forced her, an experience that scared her into wide-eyed terror when we attempted to make love. Until that point, she was all enthusiasm.
She had access to magic of rare high quality.
What other details have I forgotten in my delirium?
The portraits.
She was keenly interested in the gallery. The library, too. She knew risqué poetry by heart, yet there was a fundamental innocence about her.
What was she looking for in those paintings? A resemblance to an ancestor that would prove a natural connection? She said she wasn’t bastard-born, but she could have been lying.
I rack my brains trying to think of any possible clue.
“We must go back.”
“Highness?” Othmar looks almost as ragged as I do. Deep gray smudges ring his eyes.
